


Inside Out

by Talithax



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Doubt, Drunkenness, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Language, POV First Person, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 11:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9233822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: After a long, difficult mission, Will wonders whether Ethan's hiding something from him...





	

**Author's Note:**

> ~ Narrated by Will & Self-Beta'd.
> 
> PLEASE NOTE - Should probably come with a (possible trigger) warning, but... As obvious as it may be, that would still give it away.
> 
> Title taken from the Madonna song, Inside Out. (Google the lyrics, and you'll see why.)  
> Written as an attempt to, just for something different shake Ethan up for a change. (I'm just caring and sharing and... nice... like that.)
> 
> Enjoy.

==========  
Inside Out  
by TalithaX  
==========

 

The sound of the doorbell, a decidedly odd occurrence if ever there was one given that in order to get your finger on the button you first have to get through the locked gate and the intercom that guards it, waking me, I open my eyes, take stock of my surroundings, and... groan.

Just...

Good one.

Not content with simply feeling as though the mission had aged me twenty years, it appears that I then had to go and embrace it – old age and all that it entails – by falling asleep within seconds of my ass landing on the sofa. I sat down with the plan of quickly sorting through my mail before having a shower, crawling into bed, and pulling the covers over my head in anticipation of not moving for the next ten hours at the very least, and that, by the looks of it, was as far as I got. I placed the mail on the coffee-table, settled myself on the sofa, and...

Lights out.

I knew I was tired. And, while I'm at it, given the horrible, non-stop nature of the past few days, it's not as though I didn't have a damn good reason for hearing the siren call of my bed, but... Come on. Falling asleep, just as, without fail, my grandfather used to do every night after retiring to the living room after dinner, on the sofa is just taking things a little too far for my liking. It... I don't know. It just makes me feel old and, coming hot on the heels of every other unwelcome wake-up call delivered by this mission, oddly... fragile.

Like I'm perhaps not keeping it together as well as I've been telling myself I have.

Yes. All's well that ends well. Through stubborn determination that beat our uncertainty, fear, and, in quite a few moments, outright panic into submission, we pulled together, did what we had to do, and completed the mission. We rallied and drew on our inner strength when Ethan was captured and, holding firm to that tiresome saying of there being no 'I' in 'Team', kept it together in the face of considerable adversity. Even Benji, who, in the role of designated backup, had been there when de Souza's goons managed the seemingly impossible and nabbed Ethan, held his guilt and default 'worse case scenario' thinking in check and simply got on with doing what I needed him to. Jane also refrained from trying to seek answers as to how it could have even happened and, without a murmur of dissent, deferred to me without comment.

And I...

… Kept it together.

Somehow. Don't ask me how, but I did it. I stayed strong, and I applied what little logic I could call on given the circumstances, and I did my bit to get Ethan back. Hell. I moved heaven and earth to get him back. I assumed the role of team leader, something I would have been perfectly content to have gone to my grave without ever having to do again, and I didn't lose my shit like I half expected I would, and, again, all's well that ends well. IMF got their man, although in this case, as everything revolved around the head of the operation, de Souza, they got the... body... of their man, the team eventually got out in one, slightly battered piece, and, as always, tomorrow is another day and all that.

It's just...

… That it took a lot out of me, that's all.

Perhaps, as I am an IMF agent after all and achieving the... impossible is what's expected of me, it shouldn't have. I mean, I'm both physically fit and, no-one exactly having held a gun to my head in regards to my career choices, back in the field because it's where I actually want to be. And... We did it. We rescued Ethan and neutralised de Souza's operations just as we were expected to. Nothing more, really, and certainly nothing less. The Powers That Be are satisfied. We all live to fight another day.

And...

… The exhaustion and confusion and... the little voice in the back of my head that tells me I'm missing something, something... important, they'll all, in time, take care of themselves.

Right?

The fog will lift, the niggling doubt recede, and things will return to normal. The normal that, having been a part of this team for over twelve months, I now take for granted. Benji's smile will return, Jane will stop mentally flashing back to having already lost someone she cared about in the field, and Ethan... will go back to just being Ethan. The one I've come to both know and rely on.

I know it's early days, and God knows I'm only too aware of the fact that everyone processes things differently, that what, for example, might send me spiralling into depression can be just brushed off by another. I'm also fully aware that I know very little about what Ethan went through at the hands of de Souza. Just because his injuries, mainly bruising and abrasions, are minimal doesn't for a second mean he got off lightly. de Souza having fancied himself as something of an amateur psychologist, there's no telling what he could have put Ethan through. Not everyone, contrary to how it's portrayed in television shows or in movies, plays the torture, be it physical or psychological, card for the sole reason of wanting to obtain information. Some do it simply because they enjoy it. Or, as I suspect would most likely be the case for de Souza, because they think they hold superiority over their subject and want them to know it.

While I have my suspicions, it's highly unlikely I, or anyone for that matter, will ever know the truth of what went down in de Souza's bunker. de Souza himself is dead from a bullet between the eyes that, okay, I may well be a little too pleased about being behind, and Ethan's simply not talking. Not entirely truthfully, at any rate. Sure. He's talking. Of course he is. He's even, if he catches someone looking at him, that is, smiling and behaving as though being captured and held for over twenty four hours is simply, you know, part of the job. 

No big deal. 

Yeah. I was captured. So what? I'm here now and life goes on. What do you want me to say about what happened? It wasn't anything I haven't been through before and I don't see any reason to go into any detail about. Shit, as you already know all too well, just happens.

I just...

It's not as though I want to be having these thoughts, as I don't, I really don't, but I can't shake the feeling that more went down than Ethan's willing to admit to. What, exactly, I don't know and, my imagination having got me in to more than enough trouble over the years, nor do I even want to really think about it. Maybe I'm wrong and am just seeing something that isn't even there. Maybe I don't know Ethan as well as I like to think I do and his behaviour isn't out of the ordinary at all. Maybe he's simply aggrieved at having been – let down by either his team or even just his faith in his own abilities – captured in the first place and just wants to work through the possible can of worms opened by this in both private and in his own time. Mortality. Trust. Career. Confidence. These, let's face it, are all big ticket items to consider and if they are by any chance hanging heavily over his head at the moment then it only stands to reason that he'd be a little distant to those around him. A little distant, and in the name of keeping his thoughts private, a little... fake. All smiles, cheerful chatter, and carefree.

But only when he's aware of having an audience. 

Other times though, like during the long flight back to D.C. when he made a point of sitting a few rows in front of the rest of us and thought he was safe from watchful eyes, he looked... worn. Not just tired, but also frayed around the edges. 

To me anyway, he looked...

… Lost.

And not like the man I've come to both know and... want... at all

But, again, perhaps it's all just in my head and he really is as fine as he claims to be. 

Yawning as the sound of the doorbell once again rings out through the house, I blink my watch into focus and, after raising my eyebrow at it apparently being just after one in the morning, slowly get to my feet and start to make my way towards the front door. Too tired and with my head too full of thoughts of Ethan and how much I hope he really is okay to put any effort into trying to work out who it might be standing on my front porch, I turn the hallway light on and, to my great bemusement, watch with a mounting sense of disbelief as the door lock begins to rattle in a way that can only mean someone is trying to pick it.

Now, while a normal person's version of common sense might add this, to both the locked gate and the sound of the doorbell (checking, no doubt, to see if anyone was in) and, coming to the conclusion that they were about to be broken into, react by reaching for the closest phone and dialling 911. Thanks, however, to being as highly trained as I am too tired to be in the mood for shit like this, I'm more annoyed than bothered by my wannabe intruder and, without even sparing a thought as to where the nearest gun might be, reach for the handle and wrench the door open without hesitation.

“Can I help...” The rest of my sarcastic inquiry dying on my lips at the sight of just who it is that's standing on my door mat, I shake my head and, as the unmistakeable scent of whiskey wafts off him and assails my nostrils, take an involuntary step back. “Uh...”

“A-ha! So you are home,” Ethan announces in that curious, self-congratulatory way that only the truly drunk can pull off without just sounding obnoxious as, straightening up, he peers at me blearily and fumbles over returning his – never leave home without it – paper clip to the pocket of his black leather jacket. 

“Good to see there's nothing wrong with your observation skills, then,” I mutter, looking Ethan up and down as I struggle to get my head around the... weirdness I appear to have woken up to. It... All of it. It's just weird. From Ethan, who I've never seen so much as tipsy before, clearly being drunk, all the way to the fact he's here, standing on my doorstep in the middle of the night and, so I assume anyway, wanting to come in. Despite being dressed – to go out – in a high gloss black leather jacket over a dark grey, fitted shirt and black jeans, he looks dishevelled, smells like a distillery and, admittedly to my dismay, I'm not entirely sure what to do with him. What's more, instead of being relieved at finding him here in front of me, all I feel is both taken aback and at a complete loss as to what he might be expecting from me. Knowing Ethan, he has to be here for a reason. On the other hand though, he is drunk and mightn't have a clue as to what he's doing.

And...

Who am I kidding?

As this is Ethan we're talking about here, drunk or not, of course he knows what he's doing. Whether, however, he can actually bring himself to come clean about it is another thing entirely.

“Hey, there,” Ethan murmurs, beaming at me as he hangs on to the door frame for support. “How's things?”

“Hey there, yourself,” I reply as, wearily accepting that this – whatever it is – isn't likely to go away any time soon and that I just have to go with it, I gesture Ethan inside. “And... things are great. Just... peachy, even. You?”

“I went out for a drink,” Ethan responds with a frown as he hesitates over letting go of the door frame.

“A... drink, huh?”

“Mmm... Maybe a couple.”

“Try a dozen, more like.” Biting back a sigh, I make to close my hand around Ethan's arm in order to help him inside and am rewarded by the disturbing sight of him both shifting immediately out of reach and shooting me a wide-eyed, startled look. “What? I was only going to give you a hand.”

“Don't... Just don't touch me,” Ethan mumbles as, giving as wide a berth as he can manage, he stumbles inside. “I... I don't want to be touched.”

“Uh-huh. Got it.” And to think here I've been considering that something has to be up with Ethan. I mean... Hell, no. Clearly he's fine. Drunk. Not wanting to be touched. Absolutely. Of course he's on top of his game and I don't have a single thing to be worried about.

And on my rare days off I like to dress up as Minnie Mouse and hang out at the local mall.

“Ethan...”

“I'm fine,” he interrupts, glowering at me as he props himself up against the wall. “Even, as you just said, peachy.”

Shutting the front door, I make sure it's locked before leaning my back against it and shaking my head. “You're drunk,” I counter, “and you're not peachy at all, but... Whatever. You're here now and, as it's pretty obvious you've had more than enough alcohol for the night, I think some black coffee is probably in order, don't you?”

“Don't wanna put you out...”

“Well, you should have thought of that before somehow managing to clamber over my fence and pressing my doorbell.” Shaking my head again, I push away from the door and start to walk towards the kitchen. “Come on. Like I said a moment ago, you're here now, so...”

“Don't wanna put you out,” Ethan repeats as he nonetheless straightens himself up and follows me through the living area and into the kitchen. “I... I should just go.”

“You're not going anywhere,” I reply, pulling a chair out from under the kitchen table and gesturing for him to take a seat in it. “At least not until you've sobered up a little. So... Just sit there and I'll bring your coffee over to you in a couple of minutes.”

“Don't wanna...”

“And I don't want to hear it,” I state, cutting him off and looking pointedly at the chair until he finally gets the less than subtle hint to plant his ass on it. “Ethan... It's the middle of the night, you're drunk, and...”

“I'm sorry,” he whispers, gazing down at the tabletop as he slumps back in the chair. “For... Everything. I... I'm just sorry...”

“Shhh... I'm sure that's just the alcohol talking,” I murmur as, not wanting to give in to my growing sense of unease, I walk around the breakfast bar and turn on the coffee machine. “You'll see. Come morning everything will seem better.”

“No it won't,” Ethan replies in a glum, matter-of-fact tone. “Will, I... I don't know what I was thinking and should never have come here. You don't need...”

“And yet I've got it,” I respond in a matter-of-fact tone of my own, “and, what's more, I'm actually glad that you're here as it means I can keep an eye on you, so... Shhh... It's okay. Let's just get some coffee in you and take it from there, yeah?”

“It's going to take more than coffee to...” Trailing off, he suddenly leans forward and, with a delighted looking smile, gestures at the floor. “Cat!” he exclaims. “I didn't know that you had a cat!”

Glancing down at the floor I note that my long haired, black and white feline interloper has indeed decided to join us and shrug. “And I didn't know that you knew where I lived,” I mutter, watching the cat as, unperturbed by the visitor, she sits, staring at Ethan by the corner of the breakfast bar. “So, you know, there's probably a lot of things we don't know about each other.”

“Google,” Ethan states, his gaze still locked on the cat as they engage in some sort of pointless staring contest.

Only just resisting the urge to role my eyes, I grab a clean cup from the dishwasher, start up the coffee machine and deciding that facetiousness is probably the safest route to stick to here, murmur, “Google, huh?” 

“Well... Google maps, to be exact.”

“Google maps? Oh. Okay, then. That explains everything.” I don't think.

“Mmm... Benji showed me where you lived on it.”

“He did, did he?” It's not that I have a problem with Ethan having remembered my address from being shown it on Google maps by Benji, as I don't. I really don't and, regardless of how he came to know my address, I'm glad that he was able to find his way here. I also, not that it's something that's even come up in the twelve months we've known each other, would have given him my address if he'd ever asked. It's just that it's all rather... surreal.

Make that...

… Very surreal.

“You know,” Ethan continues conversationally, “Cameron got it wrong.”

“Cameron?” I echo as, the coffee machine now doing it's own thing and not requiring any further assistance from me, I turn around and give Ethan, who's still staring at the cat as though it's possibly the most surprising thing he's ever seen in his entire life, my full attention. “As in David Cameron, the ex-British PM?”

“Not that Cameron. Not David.”

“Then... Which Cameron? I'm sorry, Ethan, but I'm not following.”

“James.”

“James?”

“Uh-huh.”

“As in... James Cameron, the director?” On second thoughts, surreal doesn't even begin to come close to covering how far down the rabbit hole we appear to be at the moment.

“Mmm... Him. He got it wrong. It's not Skynet that's going to take over the world, it's Google. Just... Think about it. Think about how much everyone relies on it now, how... lost... they'd be without it.” 

“Anyone ever tell you that your mind works in wonderful and mysterious ways when you're drunk?”

“Seriously, Will. Think about it.”

“The... rise of Google, as opposed to the rise of the machines?”

“I'm just saying...”

“Uh-huh.” I know, as responses go, mine so far leave a fair bit to be desired, but I honestly don't know what else to say. Ethan's far from straight-laced or boring, and while Benji and the amount of useless, pop culture themed information he holds in his head leaves him in his wake, he has, on occasion, come out with something I never would have expected him to issue forth with. But... Terminator? That's just on another stratosphere.

“Anyway... Cat. I didn't know you had a cat,” Ethan announces as, looping back to where all of this actually began, he lifts his head and gives me an expectant look.

“I don't,” I murmur with a shrug.

“No?” Ethan raises an eyebrow. “Sure looks like a cat to me.”

“Oh...” I nod and give another shrug. “It's definitely a cat. It's just that it's not mine.”

“It's in your kitchen.”

“It is. But it's not mine.”

“Then why is it in your kitchen?”

“Because I think she uses me as a form of... respite... from her own home,” I reply with a laugh as, almost as though she knows I'm talking about her, the cat twists her neck around to give me a dismissive look. “What? Don't look at me like that,” I continue, meeting the cat's gaze and addressing her. “You know it's the truth as much as I do.” Laughing again, I look back over at Ethan and, because it seems to be the night for it, shrug. “It's true. The cat, who's called Bella, by the way, should live down at the house on the corner. As, however, said house is populated by five children under the age of ten who, from what little I've thankfully seen of them, seem well on their way to delinquency, she puts in an appearance here whenever I'm home and just...”

“Makes herself at home?” Ethan offers as he leans forward and stretches his hand out towards Bella in an open invitation to come over and say hello.

“Pretty much, yeah. It doesn't matter how long I've been gone for, or even if I'm only going to be back for a couple of days, as the first thing I see when I turn into the drive is a lump of black and white fur waiting for me on the door mat.”

“Maybe she just spends all of her days there, you know, hoping that you'll show.”

“I thought about that, but, no. Don't ask me how, but she... knows... when I'll be back. And, the reason I know this is thanks to the security cameras I have out the front and the fact that, yes, I was interested enough to check.”

“She only arrives the day you're actually back?”

“Yep. Again, don't ask me how, but somehow she just knows.”

“And you take her in?” he queries as, curiosity finally getting the better of her, Bella strolls towards him and rests her cheek in the palm of his hand.

“Mmm...” I nod and turn back around to check out where the coffee machine is at. “It's not like she's any real trouble or that adding a few tins of cat food to my shopping is hardly going to break me, and...”

“You like having her around. She's... unassuming... company that... doesn't ask anything, or... expect... anything from you...”

“I...” Something in the sad, wistful tone of Ethan's voice sparking warning bells in my head, I wait until the machine has finished filling the cup with coffee before turning around and trying unsuccessfully to catch his eye. “You're right,” I murmur. “I grew up with cats and I do like having her around. She's something to come home to and, even if it is just to get away from the screaming children, I know this is where she wants to be...” Pausing, I take a step forward and sigh. “Ethan... Are you sure everything is...”

“Can I pick her up?” he interrupts, stroking his hand along Bella's back as, clearly pleased to have added another adoring fan to her team, she begins to purr loudly. “A lot of the farm cats didn't like being picked up, so...”

“As I do it all the time, I don't think she minds being picked up at all,” I respond as that sense of doubt and discomfort that's been gnawing at me ever since we got Ethan back from de Souza grows yet another notch. There's drunk and talking nonsense about Google and Skynet, and then there's both fixating on, and wanting to pick up a cat. Maybe they're one and the same and I'm reading between lines that don't even exist because I can't remember when I was last in the presence of someone so drunk before, Alternatively, there's a hell of a lot more going on here than meets the eye and I don't for the life of me know how I'm going to get to the bottom of it. “Here...” Taking matters into my own hands, I scoop up Bella from the floor and once Ethan has gotten unsteadily to his feet, gently hand her across to him. “See? She doesn't mind being picked up and held at all.”

“I...” Sighing, Ethan cradles Bella to his chest and, lowering his head, rests his nose against her head.

It's an image – a touching, seemingly out of character image that I can't help but think perhaps shows the real Ethan in a way I've never been able to see before – that I know will never truly leave me.

Gentle. Innocent. Exhausted.

Real.

100% real, and something I feel privileged to be allowed to witness.

Privileged, and...

… Worried.

“Okay. New plan,” I quickly announce before doubt creeps in and tries to make me change my mind. “It's not coffee you need, it's sleep, so... Come on. Let's get you and your new furry friend into bed. Oh... And before you feel compelled to argue, I'm not going to take no for an answer.” Backing my words up with actions, I walk out of the kitchen and only glance over my shoulder once I've reached the bottom of the stairs. To my relief Ethan, still with Bella in his arms, is trailing slowly along behind me and, not wanting to make an issue out of my apparent, not to mention surprising, success, simply start up the stairs. Once I've reached the landing I make my way along the corridor to the guest room and just stand in the doorway until Ethan has walked into the room and taken a seat on the edge of the bed. “Okay. The room is all yours. No. I don't care if Bella sleeps with you. My room, if you need me for anything, is the one at the top of the stairs, and the bathroom is to the left. Feel free to help yourself to anything you might want in the kitchen, and... uh... I'll see you in the morning.”

My dictatorial instructions given, I pull the door three-quarters closed and, feeling more than a little like a coward, simply leave Ethan to it. I want to be able to help him. Of course I do. I just don't know... how. Although he's drunk, his well maintained defences haven't come down far enough for me to have any better idea as to what's going on his head, and I don't want to risk doing the wrong thing by pushing him when he's in this vulnerable state. If I kept at him now and he let whatever it is that's bothering him out, just... How would he feel about it in the morning? Relieved? Embarrassed? Pissed off at both himself and me? Distrustful? Perhaps even most importantly, what if it changed things between us?

Sighing, I mentally cross my fingers that I've done the right thing and walk into my bedroom. My bed, the one I should have by all rights been in hours ago, striking me as being a more and more appealing option by the second, I detour via the chest of drawers to retrieve sleepwear before heading in to the en suite and turning on the shower. Once I'm clean, dry, clad in pyjama pants and a T-shirt, and my teeth are feeling minty fresh, I leave the bathroom and, without bothering to go downstairs and turn off all the lights, climb wearily into bed. Settling myself on my back in the middle of the mattress, I pull the covers up to my chin, close my eyes and, instead of counting sheep or focussing on my goal of sleep, promptly begin to dwell on things.

Have I done the right thing by simply... abandoning... Ethan?

Why did he even come here?

Have I let him down by not knowing what he was expecting of me?

What the hell happened at de Souza's?

What if...

… Things aren't able to return to how they had been?

Then what?

Could I have done things differently?

I...

I... should... have done things differently. Regardless of how all of this turns out, I still should have done things differently. I should have told Ethan how much he means to me and how honoured I am to call him a friend. I also should have let him know that while I no longer feel as though I owe him for Croatia, I still... owe him. In fact, I owe him a lot. Close to everything, really. Instead of just seeing a dripping wet desk-jockey his sense of duty had compelled him to pull out of a river, he saw a member of the IMF that, all being well, could still play his part in what was coming. Then, when it was all over, instead of seeing a failed field agent with a far too delicate take on reality, he saw both potential and someone he wanted to work with again.

Ethan, who after what – I thought had – happened in Croatia I never wanted to lay eyes on again and who I actively made a point of avoiding every time I heard he was around HQ, gave me a second chance when he certainly didn't have to and it's solely because of him that I'm where I am today.

Respected. Fulfilled. Content.

And, yes. Even happy.

I... like... where my life is at. Field work is hectic, stressful, and quite frequently a risk to life and limb, but I wouldn't change it. Just as I wouldn't change a single member of the team that I still feel as though I should pinch myself in terms of being lucky enough to a part of. Sure. Jane still carries with her the emotional baggage of Trevor's death, and Benji, for all of his technical brilliance, may not exactly be the most natural or... comfortable... of field agents, but they're my friends and I trust them with my life. Like Ethan, they were prepared to both overlook my past and just take me as I am, and there's nothing I wouldn't do for any of them. They make the difficult tasks we've chosen to do fun and I know that I'm not the only one who views the team as their family.

And, even without adding the fact I may well have drowned in that Moscow river if it hadn't been for him and his hare-brained idea of sending the dead driver off with the lit flare to draw the gun fire to the equation, I know I have Ethan to thank for all of it. He saw through my past and what many, when they don't think I'm around to hear them, call my breakdown or 'brain fade', and, without wanting to be too melodramatic about it, effectively gave me back if not my life then definitely my sense of purpose.

I owe him a lot.

I also...

… Love him.

At first I put my feelings down to a mix of both hero worship and gratitude. He was, after all, Ethan Hunt. THE Ethan Hunt. IMF's number one agent, the one who truly was capable of achieving the impossible mission after mission, and the one all agents, all the way from the rookies to the old-timers, aspired to be. What's more, now that I was part of his inner circle I could see for myself that he was worth all of the accolades thrown his way and more. Brilliant. Fearless. Highly intelligent and quick to come up with ways to make the... impossible... work. Loyal. Dedicated. Determined.

A friend.

A good friend.

My... friend.

Someone I just happened to enjoy being around, and who I wanted to spend my time with. Not because he was Ethan Hunt, IMF Poster Child, or because he'd thrown me a lifeline, but because I liked him. He made me laugh, I knew I could trust him, and whenever we were alone there always felt as though there was the tantalising possibility of... more. As the months passed and we became more comfortable with each other, he started to seek me out. If there was a lull in the mission we'd sneak away from Jane and Benji whenever we could just to go for a drink or a quick meal together. We always, with the notable exception of the recent flight back to D.C., sat together on flights and, while it may have put Benji's nose a little out of joint, if rooms had to be shared I always found myself in with Ethan. On a couple of occassions, due to cramped quarters, we even had to share a bed. It was all very platonic and 'we're professionals, there's nothing to it', but I'd only be lying if I didn't own up to having fond memories of these times. Especially the first time when, too used to having the bed to myself, I cuddled up to Ethan in my sleep and, upon waking, found him looking at me with a gentle, supremely unbothered expression on his face. He then, before I even had time to jerk back or start stammering apologies, laughed, ruffled my hair, and... kissed the tip of my nose.

Not, however, that we ever spoke of it.

It wasn't awkward, and perhaps he was expecting me to reply in kind, but I didn't. I just stared at him open mouthed for a few seconds before launching into my apologetic routine and bolting for the bathroom.

We've never spoken of it, but I'm sure I wasn't the only one who felt it.

The... moment.

The...

… Possibility.

The fragile possibility of there being... something... there between us. Something strong and, contrary to the effort we both seem to be putting into either ignoring or denying it, something all too real.

I know, because he told me when he sought clarification (that, wanting to be free of secrets and starting with a clean slate, I was only too happy to give) about my 'next time I get to seduce the rich guy' comment from Mumbai, that Ethan swings both ways. So, you know, it's not as though I don't stand as much of a chance with him as the next man. We're close friends and, having caught him doing it, I know Ethan's as guilty of gazing at me when he thinks I'm not aware of it as I am of keeping a watchful eye over him. There are times, too, when our hands touch and I swear I feel a spark of electricity flow between us. There are also times when I fantasise about his hands moving over my body and what it would feel like to have him naked in bed with me.

Jane, who Benji thinks should watch more television shows and, because he doesn't particularly want to hear it, keep her opinions on this matter to herself, finds it all, as in the wordless, aimless dance Ethan and I appear to be engaged in, very entertaining. And she doesn't much care who knows about it, either. She passes comment on it all the time and, using her own history with Trevor as her, if you like, trump card, even goes so far as to tell us to either... 'make our fucking minds up', or... 'just do something!' She can see the unresolved sexual tension and, for the sake of not making the same mistake that she did, wants us to do something about it.

But...

… We don't.

We linger in each other's company and, silently, we dance the dance.

I know I could make the first move. Some days this in itself is as much a fantasy as the sexual ones are.

But...

… I don't.

I don't do anything, not because I'm afraid of being knocked back and feeling like a fool, but because I'm afraid of where it all might go. While my over active imagination might day dream of a happily ever after scenario though, but my overly dominant logic chip, as Benji likes to call it, tells me that it could ruin everything. The team dynamic could change. The relationship could burn hot and bright before fizzling out and leaving us unable to work together. That... sometimes fantasies are just better left off as fantasies and that, at the end of the day, whatever it is between us is both better than nothing and shouldn't be messed with.

Better the devil you know, in other words.

Now though, with Ethan the way he is and my own messed up emotions in overdrive, I just don't know and can feel myself faltering. There's the status quo, and then there's...

Life.

Uncontrollable, not always entirely logical, confusing, fucked up... life.

And you only get to live it once.

It mightn't go to plan, and you might hit more than a few pot holes or seemingly dead ends along the way, but it's the only one you've got and, above and beyond everything else, you should make the most of it.

Carpe diem, and all that.

Which, given how indecisive I am over this particular matter, is yet another fantasy all in itself.

It's just...

I can't get the image of Ethan holding Bella and looking so very, very lost out of my head. I know he's only human, and I certainly don't hold him up on an invulnerable, impenetrable pedestal, but that...

That was...

… Broken.

Broken and, unless I'm mistaken, out of bed and on the move.

Damn!

My eyes flying open at the sound of footsteps creeping past my doorway, I sit up and, without even stopping to think about whether I'm about to put my foot in it by by possibly putting him on the spot if he's just wanting to sneak out, swing my legs over the edge of the mattress. Standing up, I pad across the carpet and, opening the door, step out on to the landing. Having already reached the point – of no return – where nothing about tonight surprises me, I take in the sight of Ethan leaning, head in hand, against the wall by the top of the stairs and just... take it in my stride.

“Leaving?” I murmur, coming to a stop a good arm's reach away from him. “So soon?”

“That was the plan,” Ethan mumbles, giving me a weary look as, without warning, he slumps down on to the floor and, with a sigh, positions himself with his head tilted against the wall and his feet resting on the stairs.

“And now?” I query, inching a little closer to him and, so as not to appear threatening, leaning my back against the stair post. “How's that going for you?” Just like earlier in the kitchen, I'm choosing to err on the side of facetiousness in favour of coming across all demanding or, and I'm not joking here as it wouldn't take much to push me over the edge, oddly panicky. This vague and... lost... looking creature isn't the Ethan I'm used to and I can only hope that whenever... whatever... it is that's causing him to be like this gives, that I have enough in me to keep both of us together. We're both, I think it's fairly safe to say, outside of our comfort zone and are sailing in uncharted territory here and, like I keep trying to convince myself, we just have to see it through the end.

Whatever the hell that end may be.

“I think you can see for yourself how it's going,” Ethan replies with another sigh as, shifting closer to the wall, he presses his shoulder up against it and hugs his arms around his chest. “Just... I'm sorry. Go back to bed. I... I'll be gone in a minute.”

“Uh-huh.” Crouching down, I cock my head to the side and, although he's not even looking at me, smile gently. “If you're open to suggestions, I've got another plan if you'd like to hear it...”

“As you can see the stellar job I'm doing of seeing my own plan through,” he mutter, directing his response to his knees, “try me.”

“Given that it's pretty darn obvious you need to sleep and that, hey, it may as well be here as anyway,” I reply, “how about this... I get you some pyjamas to put on, you have a shower, and then just get in to bed proper. I don't mean sit on the edge and feel sorry for yourself until you think I'm asleep and can make your escape, I mean... in... bed. Head on the pillow, under the bedding, the whole nine yards. Ethan, you...” Trailing off, I waft my hand helplessly over his shoulder. “Come on. You're tired, and I really do think this is the best plan.”

“I...” Slowly lifting his head away from the wall, Ethan glances not exactly at me but in my general direction. “I'm sorry. You... You don't need this. I don't... I don't even know why I came here...”

“You came here because, at the time, it was what you wanted,” I respond, holding my hand out towards him in the hope of him taking it. “Now... Please. This isn't me touching you, it's you... willingly... placing your hand in mine so I can help you off the floor.”

“I...” Nodding, Ethan unfolds his arms and tentatively places his hand in mine. “I'm sorry...”

“So you keep saying,” I retort, tightening my hand around his and carefully helping him to his feet. “Now... You remember where the bathroom is?”

“Mmm... Next to the bedroom.”

“Good. You head for there while I go and get you something to put on.”

“You don't need to...”

“Go!” I interrupt commandingly as, with a quick grin to soften the force of my... order, I squeeze his hand before releasing it and gesturing along the corridor. “Just go to the bathroom and I'll bring your pyjamas in once I've found them.”

“Like I can say no to an order like that,” he replies as a blink-and-you'd-miss-it smile flashes all too briefly across his lips. “I... I know I'm putting you out, and...”

“Please... Just go,” I murmur, gesturing once again towards the bathroom as I begin to walk across to my bedroom. “I'm not promising a miracle, but I'm sure you'll feel better after a shower and...”

“I'm going, I'm going!” Ethan interjects, holding his hands up in a display of mock surrender as he walks past me. “Look. This is me going to the bathroom.”

Muttering, “Hallejulah,” under my breath, I enter the bedroom and dig another T-shirt and pair of pyjama pants out of the chest-of-drawers before following Ethan into the bathroom and placing them down on the vanity unit. “Here. These should fit you just fine. Uh...” It suddenly dawning on me that I hardly need to be in the bathroom with him, I shake my head and decide to quickly take my leave. “Enjoy your shower,” I add over my shoulder as I walk through the door and pull it shut behind me. 

Stifling a yawn, I lean back against the wall and waste a few seconds acknowledging that I'm now more tired and out of sorts than I can remember being in a long time before moving in to the guest room and turning down the bed under the sleepy yet still watchful eye of Bella who is curled up on the bottom left hand corner. This done, I continue to focus on the role of being a good host and head downstairs to get a bottle of water from the fridge. Once I've got it, I turn off all the lights on the ground floor and make my way back up the stairs to my bedroom. Pulling out a drawer in the bedside table, I retrieve a small packet of sleeping pills and tip two of the tiny white pills into the palm of my hand. While I know they might be viewed as either overkill or extremely insensitive in that I couldn't be more obvious in my wish for Ethan to get some sleep if I tried, part of me can't help but think they may still be the way to go. For both of us, even. I'm tired, but my mind is racing. Ethan's exhausted and doesn't seem to know what it is he wants to do. So, I don't know, perhaps pills are just the way to go.

Tipping another pill out, I place it on the bedside table and return the bottle to the drawer before walking out of the room and heading in to the guest room. I've just, still under Bella's unblinking gaze as she no doubt waits to be left in peace so she can get some sleep, finished placing the pills and the bottle of water on the bedside table when Ethan silently materialises in the doorway. Still a little damp from his shower and clutching his clothes to his chest, he looks no more alert or with it than he did a few moments ago and, not for the first time since I found him trying to break in through my front door, I just wish I knew what I could do for him.

“Good shower?” I query with a smile that's as forced as it is far too bright as he places his clothing on the chair in the corner of the room before slowly walking over to the bed and immediately spotting the slipping pills.

“Arsenic?” he mutters, sinking down on the edge of the mattress and sliding the pills in to the palm of his hand.

“Just... sleeping,” I reply, tapping my finger down on the lid of the water bottle. “You don't have to take them, and... uh... I'm not even saying I think you... should... take them, but... Well. They're there if you feel as though want them.”

“As I've heard worse suggestions...” Reaching for the bottle, Ethan twists the lid off and, with a small shrug, quickly swallows the two pills. “Cheers,” he murmurs, toasting me with the bottle before returning it to the bedside table and settling himself on the mattress. “I... Given that you never asked for any of this, I wouldn't have blamed you if they were arsenic, though...”

“Never,” I murmur, pulling the bedding up over Ethan as, the pills being of the fast acting variety, he struggles to keep his eyes open. “Besides, I don't think you asked for any of it either, so... Uh... Good night, Ethan. I really hope you sleep well and... uh... I'll see you in the morning.”

“Mmm... 'Night...”

Pleased, if not, yeah, okay, a little relieved that Ethan saw the sense in taking the sleeping pills, I turn the overhead light off and leave the room. Entering my own room, I dry swallow the pill I'd left out, turn off the lamp, climb into bed and, this time, settle myself on my side and with the covers half pulled over my head. Although I've only taken one pill to Ethan's two because I want to be awake before he is in case he tries to slip out again, I'm still asleep within minutes and sleep a deep, dreamless sleep until a gentle, inquiring paw prodding my cheek wakes me just before eight in the morning.

“Hey! Never forget you're a guest here and should be trying to stay on my good side,” I grumble, pulling my hand out from under the bedding and scratching Bella under her chin as, no doubt thinking entirely of her stomach and how much she'd like to put some breakfast into it, she peers at me from her position on the other pillow and gives a cheery sounding chirrup. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Get up and feed me.” Sitting up, I stretch my arms above my head for a few seconds and, as Bella places a hopeful paw on the bare skin of my waist from where my T-shirt has ridden up, yawn. “Look. This is me. Getting up.”

Yawning again, I give Bella another quick pat and, with no small degree of reluctance, swing my legs over the edge of the mattress and stand up. “Just... First things first,” I add, looking at Bella and shrugging as, not finding anything out of the ordinary at all in the fact I'm having a one sided conversation with a cat, I walk into the en suite and make a beeline for the toilet. Once I've done what I had to do there, I wash my hands, splash water on to my face and, feeling about as ready to face the day as I'm likely to get, leave the bathroom and, with Bella close behind me, sneak along the corridor to the guest room. Poking my head through the doorway, I take in the sight of Ethan, curled on his side in the middle of the bed and still fast asleep, and smile. While it wouldn't have surprised me too greatly to discover an empty bed and that, in turn, he'd only faked swallowing the sleeping pills, he's still here and I'm so relieved by this that I don't even care that I still wouldn't have a clue as to what's going on with him or that, once he wakes up, we'll basically be right back where we were last night.

Uncertain. Floundering. Wary.

But, speaking for myself anyway, willing to do whatever it takes to make it through to the other side.

Still smiling to myself, I back away from the door and, after scooping Bella up and draping her over my shoulder, make my way downstairs and into the kitchen. Thanks to getting in so late yesterday, we've all been given the day off to recover and the morning as, really, is the entire day, is mine to do with as I see fit. While normally I might, albeit far from enthusiastically and only because I feel as though I should, go for a run or work out, right now, as I can't think any further ahead than just feeding the cat and having a cup of coffee, I think the way to go is simply take what ever comes my way and be done with it. No plans. No expectations.

Just killing time until Ethan wakes up, really.

Which, by my reckoning given what I know of the sleeping pills, should be in about ninety or so minutes.

With this in mind, I make a mental note to be aware of when nine-thirty rolls around and just generally – mooch – go about my rather domestic business. I feed Bella, have my own breakfast, unpack my bag and prepare a load of washing, finally, only ten hours after I'd originally planned to do it, go through my mail, spend a fair bit of time thinking about whether I should change out of my pyjamas and actually get dressed before reaching the decision that I can't actually be bothered, read a couple of online newspapers, and, both just like that and almost before I know it, the time is up and I'm back in the kitchen making two cups of fresh coffee. Once they're done, strong and black for Ethan and, to his continued dismay, sweet and milky for me, I carry them up to the guest room and, with perfect timing, step through the doorway just as Ethan's eyes blink open and he slowly pulls himself up into a sitting position.

“Hey there,” I murmur as, smiling in the face of his groggy, befuddled expression, I place his coffee down on the bedside table. “Sleep well?”

“Thanks to the pills,” Ethan replies, running his fingers through his hair before settling himself more comfortably against the pillows at his back and reaching for the cup, “I slept like a log.”

“Good. I think you probably needed it.” Toasting him with my own cup, I take a sip of coffee and turn to walk back out of the room. “Just... Take your time and enjoy your coffee. As we don't have to be anywhere this morning, for a nice change you can take as long as you'd like.”

“Actually... Will...”

Something in the tone of Ethan's voice stopping me, I glance over my shoulder and have another mouthful of coffee while I wait for him to continue.

“Stay,” he whispers, reaching down and patting the mattress with his free hand. “Please... I... I'd like you to stay.”

Shrugging my acceptance, I walk back over to the bed and take a seat on the edge of the mattress by Ethan's thighs. “How are you feeling, anyway? If you've got a headache, or...”

“I feel like I've been hit by bus,” Ethan interrupts, folding his hands around his cup and gazing down at it, “but as I have no-one other than myself to thank for it, I'll live.”

“If you'd like some painkillers, I...”

“It's not painkillers I need,” he murmurs, once again cutting me off mid offer. “Uh... Sorry. Once the caffeine has hit my system I'm sure I'll be fine.”

“Perhaps the coffee would go better with something to eat,” I reply, placing my cup on the bedside table and making to get up. “I've got toast and cereal, but if there's anything in particular...”

“I'm not hungry,” Ethan replies, curling his hand around my arm and gently pulling on it until I get the hint to sit back down again, “and, Will, although I certainly appreciate it, I don't need you to wait on me. You... You've done enough for me already.”

Lowering myself back on to the mattress, I shake my head and place my hand fleetingly over his. “I haven't done anything and, while my skills as a host may be a little rusty, I'm happy to wait on you. Ethan, I... Whatever it is you might need, I want you to know that I'll do my best...”

“I know I should have said this before, that... perhaps now isn't even the time,” Ethan states, jerking his hand out from under mine as, his cup of coffee no longer commanding his attention, he stares aimlessly in the direction of the window, “but, Will... I just want you to know that I admire you.”

“Admire me?” I repeat as, too shocked by Ethan's out-of-the-blue confession, I'm unable to control myself and give a dry, dismissive snort and shake my head. “You'd be the only one.”

“Benji thinks you're the most intelligent person he knows. Not to mention the most logical and reliable.”

“And yet...” Shrugging, I lean forward and retrieve my coffee. “I'm not the one he wants to... be, the one he hero worships.”

“Yeah, well, more fool him,” Ethan mutters as, sighing, he inches a few inches further away from me. “I meant what I said though, Will. I admire you. Not just because you're absolutely brilliant at what you do, but because you're... real. You don't live your life behind a façade and, once you let someone know you, what they see is what they get. You... You're not a charlatan...”

“Hey...” Putting my cup straight back down again in favour of focussing my whole attention on Ethan and this... beyond peculiar... subject he appears to have settled on, I swivel around to better face him and, wanting to try my luck at lightening the moment, both roll my eyes and smile ruefully. “I think what you're trying to say there is that... I'm too emotional for my own good.”

“No.” Shaking his head, Ethan tightens his hands around his coffee and lowers his head so that he's looking down at his lap. “That wasn't what I was trying to say at all,” he continues in a quiet, flat voice. “Will, you... You're real. You know yourself, you know when to let someone in, and I... I think you're perfect.”

“You know, I happen to think you're pretty perfect your...”

“Then this time it's more fool you,” he interrupts, jerking his head up and giving me a pained look as, placing his drink down next to mine, he swings his legs over the opposite edge of the mattress to where I'm sitting and places his feet on the floor. “Seriously, I'm far from perfect. In fact, I think you'll find I'm nothing more than a fake.”

“Ethan?” Standing up, I hesitate over whether taking a seat next to him would be a good idea and, after a few seconds of feeling awkward and out of my depth, settle for sitting back down on the end of the bed instead. “What are you talking about? You're...”

“An actor,” he mumbles, burying his head in his hands. “One who's... been playing the same role for so long that... that it's become all that he is. Ethan Hunt. Agent. IMF to the core and that's it, that's... all there is to him.”

“Crap, that's all there is to him,” I retort as, throwing caution to the winds, I reach out and place my hand lightly on his slumped shoulder. “You're a lot more than just an IMF agent, and...”

“You're wrong. That's all there is to me. Without it...” Groaning, he shrugs off my hand and, just as I'm becoming used to, shifts further away from me. “Without it there's just... nothing. If I'm not, if I... can't be... the agent everyone expects me to be, then I... I've got nothing.”

“And you know what? Again I say... crap,” I state, quashing my considerable unease at this conversation and, instead of trying to go with the softly, softly approach, just speaking directly from the heart. “Ethan... Listen to me. Of course you're more than just... uh... IMF's Golden Child. I mean, don't get me wrong, you're both an amazing agent and more than deserving of all the praise and... awe... thrown at you, but there's still more to you. A lot more.”

“There's not. I know you're only trying to help, and I appreciate it, I really do, but... You're wrong.”

“I'm not, and nor am I going to sit here and just listen to you... belittle... yourself like this. So...”

“Will, please... You don't need...”

“You know what, first and foremost, I see when I look at you, Ethan? I see a friend. My... friend. Sure, you're the agent everyone wants to either work with or be, but that comes a distant second to me. You're...”

“Will...”

“Uh! I hadn't finished,” I declare as, mentally digging my heels in and refusing to back down, I shift around the mattress so that we're now both sitting on the same side. “Again. Yeah, yeah, whatever. You're Ethan Hunt, IMF Agent Extraordinaire. I get that, I do. What's more, at the risk of only reinforcing your current opinion of yourself, I really do feel that being able to work with you is both an honour and a privilege and that if I could be half the agent you are I'd consider myself doing well, but...”

“Don't... Please,” Ethan all but whimpers as he turns his head and gives me a raw, beseeching look. “If you knew me...”

“But that's just it,” I respond, “I do know you. Or, at the very least, I like to think I know some of you, the... most important parts, anyway. You... Seriously, Ethan, you've got to listen to me here. You're the man who saw something in me that probably no-one else would have and who then took a chance by welcoming me on to his team. You're the man I feel the most comfortable with in this entire world and who I trust not only with my life but also with... the truth. Did you hear that? Only with you do I feel as though I can truly be myself with.” Pausing, I flash him a brief smile and shrug. “Now, come on, even you should be able to realise that has absolutely nothing to do with... your award winning, alter-ego of Super Agent.”

“I just think...”

“And... Guess what? I still hadn't finished.”

“But...”

“You're also the man,” I continue, locking my gaze on Ethan's and all but daring him to be the first to look away, “who, upon waking up to find me draped all over you, simply kissed me and didn't make an issue of my... massive... invasion of his personal space.”

“I...” Sighing, Ethan takes my silent dare head on and turns away in order to once again direct his gaze at the window. “And I'm also the man,” he murmurs in a voice barely above that of a whisper, “who, to this day, is still wishing that you'd kissed me back...”

“If it helps,” I reply as, feeling as though I'm treading on eggshells here doesn't even begin to cover it, I hope like crazy that I'm not about to make what already seems like a pretty bad situation even worse by deciding now, of all times, calls for nothing but one-hundred honesty, “I'm still wishing the same thing, that... uh... I'd seized the moment, reacted how I'd wanted to, and... kissed you back.”

“No. It doesn't help.” Sighing, Ethan runs his fingers through his hair and, standing up, walks over to the window and pulls the half-closed drapes fully open. “It doesn't help at all,” he adds, keeping his back to me as he gazes out through the glass and on to the street. “In fact, as it just brings it home to me that it's now far too late, it... it makes everything that just that little bit worse.”

“I...” Honestly. How am I supposed to reply to that? Here I am, wanting to help Ethan, to, I don't know, banish the darkness that's threatening to consume him at the moment by being as truthful as I've ever been with him and giving him something to – hopefully – hope for. Yet... Somehow all I've managed to do is make things worse for him. Which, needless to say, wasn't my intention at all.

Maybe...

Maybe in this instance actually trying is worse than... not.

“I'm sorry,” I murmur lamely. “Perhaps it would be better if I just left you on your own...” Trailing off, I'm in the process of getting to my feet when Ethan turns around and, with a sigh, gestures for me to sit down again. “Are you sure? As I only want to help, not... fuck things up even more, I don't mind...”

“Do you want to know why I went out last night?” he queries, leaning against the wall by the window and, after a moment's hesitation that's probably caused solely by there being a lack of pockets in his pyjama pants, folds his arms loosely across his chest. “I went out for one and one reason only, and that was to get fucked,” he continues in an eerily calm manner, as though, really, what he was confessing was unlikely to be of any interest to anyone, himself included. “I didn't care by who. I just wanted to be bent over, or face down, while someone fucked me.”

“Oh...” Taken aback by this, even though I fight hard not to show it, I shrug and lick my suddenly incredibly dry lips. “How'd that go for you, then?”

“The first part went fine,” Ethan replies, tilting his head back against the wall. “Picking up, just as it always is, was easy. He even seemed nice enough and, as he didn't remind of me anyone, I liked his face. He... He actually had a nice smile.”

“You know...” Again, just how the hell am I supposed to respond to this... random little bombshell? I have no... hold... over Ethan and, never for a moment having thought him to be celibate while we've danced around each other, it's not even as though I'm particularly shocked by hearing him confess to having a sex life. It's more, I suppose, that I just don't like it. It's not a surprise, I don't feel... slighted or offended by it, and, at the end of the day, what Ethan chooses to do in his own time is no-one's business other than his own.

It's just I'd rather not have my nose rubbed in it, that's all.

“That... That's just marvellous, it really is,” I grind out. “What's more, I hope the two of you had a great time together. If, however, you're wanting to go into any greater detail here then, sorry, I'm going to have to ask you to keep it to...”

“There was nothing wrong with him,” Ethan interrupts, talking, seemingly, more to himself than to me. “He didn't look like...” Pausing, he swallows hard and half turns so that he's facing the corner of the room. “I... I couldn't go through with it!” he exclaims breathlessly. “When he went to touch me... there... I just... I lost it. That's what I did. I lost it and couldn't go through with it. I wanted to, I wanted to just... suck it up and prove to myself that I still could, but I... I couldn't! I couldn't grit my teeth or... lay back and think of England, or switch off and just push on, and... and I had to get out of there. No fight, just... flight... I ran. For the first time in my life I... I just ran...”

“Ethan?” Not liking the direction my thoughts are suddenly taking, I stand up and position myself a short distance away from him. “Hey... It's okay. As unfamiliar as it might have been to you, we've all had moments when... flight... really is the only out. So, come on... Just... Stop being so hard on yourself.”

“What if it had been during a mission, huh?” he counters, keeping a wary, watchful eye over me in case, God forbid, I attempt to reach out and comfort him or anything like that. “I'm not talking about some sick scenario of... sex saving the day, but in general. What if I froze like that during some sort of life and death situation, huh? I... I can't. I can't have that sort of threat hanging over my head. Not... Not when there are others relying on me.”

“Come on, Ethan. Seriously. Stop being so hard on yourself. These things happen. It's just life. You can't take one minor... blip and...”

“You. Weren't. There!”

“No. I wasn't.”

“Then don't try to talk to me about it!”

Informing Ethan that, as it happens, he was the one who actually broached this particular topic, not really being the way to go here, I shrug and decide to slightly change tack. “If it happened during a mission, you'd have, just as you always do, found a way through,” I state in a no-nonsense tone. “I'm not saying it would have been easy for you, but you'd have still done it.”

“You can't...”

“I can say it, and the reason I can say it is because it's true. You'd have soldiered on.”

“No.” He shakes his head and tightens his arms around his chest. “Maybe a couple of days ago, but not now. Now... Just listen to me, Will. I'm a risk.”

“To yourself, perhaps,” I reply bluntly, “but not to others.”

“What are you talking...”

“Listen! Your little melt down last night, and don't think I'm making light of it as I'm not, was... personal. It effected you and you only. If, however, there was even the slightest chance that it could have effected anyone else, then I know you could have gone through with it. Ethan... I don't profess to knowing what's going on here, but you've got to believe me when I say that I still trust you. In the field. With my life. With... the fate of the entire fucking world! You... You're more than just the one-trick pony you seem to think you are, and if you're wanting to give up field work then, for what little it's worth, I'm behind you all the way, but, please... Please don't take what happened last night as... the end of life as you know it...”

“How can you be so...”

“Because I like to think I know you pretty well. You're... frayed around the edges for some reason at the moment, but you're still you. I mean, think about it, your... bigger picture... is jumping miles ahead to moments when you might possibly put others at risk, it's not about you and what's best for... you.”

“It's just... I feel so...” Trailing off, Ethan gives me a sad look and abruptly sinks down onto the floor. 

“Lost?” I offer, dropping down into a kneeling position next to him as he rests his back flat against the wall and draws his knees up towards his chest.

“Like I'm in danger of losing my mind,” he clarifies with a heavy sigh. “Everything you've just said, it.. It makes a welcome degree of sense to me and I think, I really do, that there's a good chance you could even be right. It's just... My biggest problem is that none of it makes any sense to me. Why he did it. Yeah. I get that. What I don't get though is my... reaction.”

“Didn't he do it because, at the time, it was what you thought you wanted?” I query, confused at what I take, be it rightly or wrongly, as another slight shift in subject. “I mean, I'm not saying this is what you're doing, but you can't blame that man from last night for...”

“Not him, de Souza.”

“Oh.” Wonderful. So I was right, then. It was a slight change in subject. One that, just call me psychic, I'm fairly confident I'm not going to like one tiny iota. “de Souza? What's he got to...”

“It hurt. Don't get me wrong, of course it fucking hurt,” Ethan continues, picking up, or so I can only assume anyway, where he left off. “But... So what? Being beaten hurts, too. Hell. Compared to having a bone broken or a fingernail ripped out, it wasn't even that bad. And... It's not as though he went where no man had gone before, if you get my drift, so...”

My breath catching in my throat as the cold, hard truth of the matter is finally made clear, I flop down more comfortably on the floor and, regardless of whether he wants it or not, place my hand on Ethan's knee. “I...”

“As you've got nothing to apologise for,” he mutters, tensing slightly at the weight of my hand on his knee but, to my relief, making no attempt to move it, “don't even dream of saying that you're sorry as I... I don't want to hear it!”

“What I'd been going to say, is that... I'm glad I killed the bastard,” I state in as measured a tone as I can manage as, curling my free hand into a fist, I dig my nails into my palm. “My only regret is that I didn't make him suffer first.”

“Dead is still dead,” Ethan replies drily, “and I'm glad you killed him too.”

“Why...” I know I probably shouldn't ask this, but part of me feels as though I have to at least try to get an answer on this particular point. “I know it's not the sort of thing that needs to be broadcast to the masses, but... why didn't you say anything? You may need special...”

“Not wanting to, and I quote, 'catch anything' from me, he actually used protection,” he responds, his breath catching in his throat like mine did only a moment ago as, his composure beginning to falter, he lowers his head and stares down at his knees. “So, no, I don't actually need any special treatment at all. And, again, it's not as though... uh... he was entering uncharted territory. It... That... And that's why I don't get why I'm reacting like this! I've endured worse pain, it's not as though I have the threat of disease hanging over my head or am having to question my sexuality, and... I know why my body reacted the way that it did! Yet... Oh God...” Trailing off, he groans and goes back to resting his head against the wall. “I'm behaving like a princess over something that shouldn't even bother me!”

“You...” Shifting closer, I uncurl my fingers and lightly place my hand down on his upper arm. “I think you're acting... perfectly within your rights,” I murmur. “Ethan... Regardless of how confusing it all is for you, you were still ra...”

“Don't! Call it denial if you want, but I... I don't want to hear that word!” he interjects pleadingly. “Will, please... I accept that's what happened, and I'm not hiding from it, but, please I... I just don't need to hear it.” 

“Then... Tell me what I can say.” It might be a cop out, but I honestly don't know where else to turn. Everything, from his behaviour after we rescued him, to disappearing once we returned to HQ, and all the way to arriving on my doorstep in the middle of the night, might make perfectly horrid sense now, but that doesn't mean I'm any wiser as to how to proceed. Ethan's in a vulnerable place because, despite it all seeming very logical and, dare I say it, normal to me, the way he's reacting doesn't make any sense to him, and all I want to do is the... right thing.

Whatever it is that may be.

“Ethan... Tell me what you need from me and it's yours. I can be... the pillar to brace yourself against, or... a sounding board, or even just a friend. Just... Whatever you need. Tell me and it's yours.”

“The only thing you can't be is what I want you to be,” Ethan whispers, glancing at me and smiling sadly. “Not now. I left my move too late and...”

“Who said anything about it being too late?” I interrupt, shifting even closer and gently cupping my hand around Ethan's cheek. “This... This doesn't have to change anything. Like I said earlier, you're still you, and God knows I'm still me, so...”

“It... It has to have changed things...”

“Why? Not that it's a competition that any sane person would want a bar of, but I bet my emotional baggage still trumps yours anyway. I mean... Shit! You don't even want to know how close I came to having a panic attack when it fell on my lap to find you.”

“Yet you still did it.”

“Of course I did! The stakes being what they were, it wasn't like I had any other choice. Getting you back was everything.”

“It's just a shame, then, what ended up coming back,” Ethan mutters, pulling his head away from my hand. “Will... Thank you. Thank you for inviting me in last night when, through the bottom of the bottle, all I could think about was seeing you, and... thank you for, believe it or not, somehow managing to make me feel a little better about things, but... Come on. Even you've got to admit things will have had to have changed.”

You know something? 

That's it. Game over.

We can circle around this and play at being touchy-feely for the rest of the day, if not our lives, or...

It can stop now.

“Actually. You're right. Of course things have changed,” I announce, clearly to Ethan's surprise if the wide-eyed look of shock on his face is anything to go by, as I grab both of his hands in mine and squeeze them tightly. “You're human after all, and we're both fools. Fools who just happen to have danced this stupid dance for far too long and who, I think you'll have to agree, have now realised that... enough is enough! No more dithering, or hiding, or trying to be all logical and sensible. This... thing... between us is what it is, and my vote is to run with it. I want you however I can get you and... the only thing that's changed is that I'm done dancing!”

“Done dancing, huh?” Ethan replies as a long overdue smile begins to tug on the corner of his lips. “Given how much I've always enjoyed watching you move, that's a shame.”

“Mmm... Maybe I haven't entirely done with it, then.” Mirroring Ethan's cautious smile, I use the hold I've got on his hands to slowly pull him into a kneeling position. “You're with me though, yeah? What happened... unfortunately happened. We can't change it, but what we can do is work with it. You've already made it around one corner by sharing it with me, and I want to be by your side the rest of the way. If... uh... Of course, that is if you'll have me.”

“Have you? As you're all that I want, with an offer like that, how could I possibly refuse?” His smile broadening, Ethan wraps his arms around my waist and, with a happy sounding sigh, relaxes against me. “Just... Where would I be without you, huh?”

“Going on the state of you when you arrived last night, my guess would be passed out in a gutter somewhere,” I retort as, the dim light at the end of the tunnel suddenly giving way to cloudy blue skies and daylight, I drape my arms over Ethan's shoulders and hug him back. It's only the beginning, yet while I'm not so caught up in the relief of the moment to be so deluded as to think it's going to be easy, what I do already know is that it's definitely going to be worth it.

Together.

Whatever comes our way, from this point onwards we'll face it together.

“Charming, I don't think.”

“If the cap fits.”

“Remind me, again, just why it is I'm so taken with you?”

“Because...” Leaning forward, I plant a soft kiss on Ethan's forehead. “Who else would you want to be sitting on the floor in your pyjamas with at ten in the morning on a rare day off, huh?”

Laughing, Ethan tightens his hold on my waist and kisses my cheek. “When you put it like that...”

“Face it. We're stuck with each other.”

“Face it? I'm... counting on it.”

“You and me both,” I whisper. “You and me both.”

~ end ~


End file.
